


Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend

by LoveisYonduBlue



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Shy boi, shy Martinex, shy reader, uh oh we're locked in together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 01:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18110642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveisYonduBlue/pseuds/LoveisYonduBlue
Summary: A shy tailor on Stakar’s ship has had her eye on the First Mate, Martinex, for a while. Little does she know he feels the same. Stakar sees this and gives you both a nudge in the right direction. Requested by Fandommemporiumm on Tumblr when I opened requests around Valentines Day.





	Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on Tumblr awhile ago, and I could have sworn I posted it here but I can't find it! So here you go!

In the corner of the rec room, Martinex T’Naga sighs, leaning into his hand. All sounds of his fellow Ravagers laughing, gambling, rough-housing and drinking just fade into the distance; his attention is completely captured by you, the resident tailor, at the other end of the room.

You’re a Terran woman that they picked up a few years ago when they busted a Kree slave ship. You’d been bruised, beaten and sick from malnourishment under the slavers, but you’d grown healthy quickly under the care of Stakar Ogord and his medical staff. You’d found a place among the crew with your talent for sewing and mending things and had been a Ravager ever since.

Martinex watches as you work steadily and quietly, looking up every once in a while, to see what your crewmates are up to. Sometimes your eyes drift his way, and he is careful to avert his gaze. He doesn’t want you to think he’s being a creep; he just admires you so deeply that he can’t keep his eyes off you. _Not that you’d ever want anything to do with a Plutonian like me_ , he thinks, but he can’t help how he feels.

You snip off an extra piece of thread, and tug on the jacket’s sleeve to make sure the stitching is sound. It is, so you fold the garment and place it in the bin at your left with the rest of the finished clothes. One of your fellow crew members bowls into you table, and you lift your beer from its top before it can spill. “Sorry, [y/n],” the man mumbles drunkenly.

You just smile and shake your head. You’re shy and introverted, but you like being around people, so you always bring your mending down to the rec room when the others are hanging out. Plus, you like the background noise; it helps you focus.

Glancing down at the bin to make sure nothing was spilled on the finished clothes, you reach into a matching bin at your right, a bundle of torn and ripped leathers and other garments. You lift a shirt out, and in dismay you recognize it as belonging to Martinex. You quickly assess the damage, pull out the correct color thread, and get to work on it straight away. You usually do Martinex’s mending first; someone must have dumped a bunch of clothes on top of the pile when you weren’t around – or switched the clothes around so theirs was on top. You wouldn’t put that past a Ravager.

As you sew with swift, careful movements, your eyes briefly raise to the crystal-skinned First Mate lounging in a corner on the opposite side of the room. Ever since you came on board, since the moment you slipped your hand into his as he helped you onto the ship, you haven’t been able to get his gem-like eyes out of your head. Or his deep, melodic crystalline voice. Or his solid, muscular body. You sigh.

Stakar Ogord has been wonderful, giving you a place and a purpose on the ship, but it’s Martinex that you have feelings for. He’s been nothing but a gentleman to you, and you just wish that he would notice you, but every time you look at him, he’s looking in the opposite direction.

Martinex watches you carefully out the of the corner of his eye, until your gaze drops to the shirt in your hands again.

“Gods, ya gotta be the sorriest damn thing this side of Contraxia.”

Martinex looks up and into Stakar’s face. He doesn’t reply, and instead takes a sip of his beer, careful not to meet his Captain’s eyes.

“If ya like her that much,” Stakar continues, “Just go and ask her to dinner.”

Martinex scoffs. “It ain’t that easy. Every time I’m around her, I wig out.”

Stakar smirks at him and shrugs. “Well, maybe you just need a helping hand,” he mumbles into his glass.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

\---

Martinex is nearly done repairing the hyperdrive on his M-ship the _Charon_ when he hears the telltale sound of feet on the ladder leading to the upper deck. He cocks his head. They sound too light to be Stakar’s. He slides out from underneath the motherboard as you appear at the top of the ladder. “[y/n]!” he exclaims, eyes widening. “Uh. Wassup?”

“The Captain said you needed help, sir. He mentioned something about some of the upholstery needing mending?”

“What? He did?”

“Yes,” you say in a small voice, fidgeting. “Sorry to bother you.”

“No, no, no you’re - you’re not bothering me, [y/n],” he says quickly, holding out his hands. “You’re never bothering me. I just-” He stops in mid-sentence. ‘ _Well maybe you just need a helping hand.’ ‘The Captain said you needed help._ ’ “Excuse me,” he says, hurriedly pushing past you to get to the port side window. Just as he reaches it, there’s a loud, grinding whirring noise and two heavy _thunks_ as the _Charon_ is locked in place by the anchors. He presses his face against the glass and sees Stakar withdrawing from the ship. “Hey!” he shouts, pounding on the glass.

Stakar turns, grins, and waves. Then he continues out of the hangar without looking back. Running to the main controls, Martinex sees all exits off the ship are locked down. He tries to disengage the anchors and override the door locks, but the system isn’t communicating with the _Starhawk_ or the Navs in the Control Room. Everything important is functioning – life support and A-grav – but he’s locked in.

Locked in. With you. Alone. “Oh gods.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re, uh. We’re locked in.”

 _“What?”_ You scramble down the ladder, and there’s the slight rattling noise as you try to open the door.

“It’s no use, all the exits are overridden from the outside. The ship’s anchored and locked out of the system,” he explains, climbing down the ladder after you.

You look up at him in concern. “What do we do?”

He shrugs. “Nothing we can do. Guess we’re stuck here until someone unlocks the controls and lets us out.” He sits down on the cot reserved for the wounded; the springs squeak slightly.

Standing, you lean against the wall opposite. “Well, the Captain knows we’re here. He’ll come looking for us, right?”

Martinex snorts and shakes his head. “He’s the one who locked us in.”

“What?” you ask, straightening up. “Why would he do that?”

He looks at you, then ducks his head shyly. “I dunno. Tryin’ to…to get us together or something.”

“Get us together?” you echo.

Martinex looks up at the nervous tremor in your voice, and there’s no mistaking the heat flushing your skin, turning it a bright shade of red.

“Y-yeah,” he says. “But don’t worry, I won’t –” He looks away. “I won’t make a move on you or anything.” _As much as I want to._

There’s a long silence, then you say softly, “Why not?”

His head snaps up so fast he swears he can hear his skin crackle. “What?”

Your eyes are downcast, your hands clenched tightly together in front of you. You slide down the wall into a sitting position, drawing up your knees. “Why won’t you make a move on me?”

He stares. When he speaks, his voice comes out a little shriller than he means. “What…what are you saying, [y/n]?”

“I always do your mending first, so you’ll be pleased. I adjust my work shifts so they match yours. I keep trying to catch your eye,” you add in a quiet voice, glancing up at him, “But you never seem to notice me.”

He gapes at you. “You kidding?” He gets up from the cot and sinks down next to you. “[y/n], I have adored you since the first moment I saw you.” You look up at him in wonder. “You’re one of the kindest, sweetest, most generous and caring people I’ve ever met. I haven’t made a move on you because…well, I was afraid. Afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way. And look at me.” He gestures to himself. “I don’t look remotely like anyone from your planet.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” you say, gently taking his gloved hands in yours.

He catches his breath at your touch.

“You’re brave and heroic, a great leader, and a compassionate man. You’ve always been kind and gentle to me, which means more than you know. I never feel safer than when I’m around you.”

You catch each other’s eyes and lean in slightly. Martinex suddenly draws in a sharp breath. “[y/n], I have to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“I tear my shirts on purpose. So I have an excuse to come and see you.”

You stare at him for a second then burst out laughing. He laughs too, and the tension between the two of you seems to dissipate. You laugh so hard you’re nearly crying, and lean your head into his shoulder, trying to regain your breath.

He lifts a hand and trails his fingers over your hair, barely touching the strands. “[y/n]?” he asks.

“Yes?”

“I really like you. I want to take you out on a date.”

A wide, blushing smile forms on your lips. “I’d like that.”

 _Oh. Guess Stakar was right. That_ was _easy._ He grins at you. “Dope.”

You giggle, then look around the ship. “So, what now? We’re still locked in here.”

He gets to his feet, pulling you up as he goes, and guides you over to the cot, where you both sit down. “I guess we should just get to know each other better.”

You chat for a while, and he learns where you grew up, what you like to do in your spare time. He learns you’re an avid reader, which delights him, because he’s the _Starhawk’s_ resident bibliophile. “You should see my cabin,” he says. “Floor to ceiling. Books everywhere.”

“Sounds wonderful.” You smile and look at your feet. “Martinex?” you ask shyly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I hold your hands? I know that sounds really weird, but-”

He offers his gloved hands to you. “I’d give you the stars if you asked.”

You blush, and takes one of his hands in yours, undoing the snap around his wrist. You slide off one glove, then the other, placing them on the cot by your side. Martinex’s right hand is slightly warmer, his left slightly colder than your own skin temperature. You smooth your thumbs over their uneven crystalline surfaces, and as you do so, his skin changes. The jagged texture is gone, replaced by a smooth, glass-like surface.

You look up into his face in wonder. “How did you…?”

“I can change the composition of my outer skin when I want to.” He closes his eyes briefly, and his face is suddenly full of sharp, pointed crystal protrusions, then the next moment, it’s like looking into the face of a perfectly smooth ice sculpture. He opens his eyes and his skin returns to its normal state; he laughs a little. “It’s easier with smaller areas, like my hands. Or-” he cuts himself off, and there’s a pinkish sparkle on his cheeks.

“Or?” you echo, with a small, teasing smile.

“Or my lips,” he says, and the pinkish hue darkens in his face.

Your heart hammers in your chest. “Would you show me?”

The pink sparkle grows over his nose and up the sides of his face. He can’t seem to speak, so he only nods. Bending towards you, he slides his hands around your waist and hesitantly touches his lips to yours.

His lips are warm and smooth, and more yielding that you expect. When you lean into him, his hold on you tightens slightly, drawing you further against his body. He kisses you firmly, then releases you, breathing heavily, his eyes closed.

You embrace him, leaning your head into leather of his chest, and kiss his bare throat. The crystals shiver and shift to a smooth surface. You continue placing kisses wherever you can reach his bare skin, and the crystal ridges ripple to glass across his body, trying to keep up with your movements. He trembles as you place a kiss in the space where his neck meets his chin and lets out a loud groan of want.

Before you can say a word, he’s hoisted you into his arms, seating you on his lap. With one hand tangled in your hair and another hooked around your waist, he presses his lips against yours. The rougher crystals around his mouth brush against your skin, but it’s almost like the hairs of a beard, the way his skin stimulates you. His kiss is strong, confident; his lips open, explorative, and sensual.

When he parts from you at last, you feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven. “Martinex,” you gasp. “That – that was amazing.”

He smiles down at you, tracing the backs of his fingers along your cheek. “Oh, just you wait. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”


End file.
